Chapter 8: The Shadow of Greyson

  The arena lights were finally dimming behind me as I stepped out into the biting midnight air. The media spin session had dragged on for grueling hours—follow-up interviews, emergency damage-control meetings with Potter Watts, and endless revisions to the talking points for tomorrow’s youth hockey charity drive. My feet ached in my heels, and my shoulders felt permanently locked from the sheer exertion of holding myself together in Logan McAllister's presence.

  The parking lot was nearly empty, just a few staff vehicles and my modest sedan waiting under the harsh, buzzing glow of the sodium security lamps. I clutched my bag tighter against my ribs, the weight of my laptop and PR binders digging into my side. For a brief, foolish moment, I allowed myself a small victory. The press conference had gone better than expected. Logan had actually followed the script. Public perception was starting to tilt, even if only by a fraction. Maybe this contract would end faster than I feared.

  My phone buzzed violently in my hand just as I reached the driver's side door. I glanced down, expecting an update from the overnight PR monitoring team.

  It was a voicemail. From Greyson.

  My stomach dropped like a stone into a well. I hadn’t heard his voice in weeks—not since I had changed my number the first time. With shaking fingers, I tapped play and held the speaker to my ear.

  “Rhea, baby…” His voice slithered through the phone, smooth, transactional, and laden with the exact patronizing tone he used right before he took something from me. “I heard you landed some big, fancy corporate job with that hockey team. The Tigers, right? Must be making real money now. About time you contributed something useful.”

  I leaned heavily against the car door, my free hand gripping the cold handle for physical support.

  “You owe me, sweetheart. After everything I did for you? Covering your pathetic little stutter in public, dealing with your psychotic anxiety attacks, keeping you from completely falling apart… The least you can do is wire me twenty grand. I’ve got debts too, you know. And if you don’t help me out, I might just reach out to your new bosses. Tell them what a fragile, useless little doormat you really are. How you used to cry every night because you couldn’t handle real life. Call me back, Rhea. Don’t make me come find you.”

  The voicemail clicked off. I played it again. Then a third time, my breathing growing shallower, the concrete beneath my feet tilting dangerously. My chest tightened painfully, a phantom band of iron squeezing the air right out of my lungs. The old, familiar monster of a panic attack surged up, fast and brutal.

  Not here. Not now.

  I slid down the side of my sedan until my skirt brushed the cold asphalt, pulling my knees tight against my chest. My vision blurred into a smear of tears. The stutter I’d fought so hard to control came roaring back inside my own mind, a frantic, looping echo. I-I-I can’t… I c-can’t do this again.

  Greyson’s words cut deep because they targeted the core of my shame. He had been there during my worst burnout from the high-powered PR world. He’d torn me down piece by piece until I genuinely believed I was entirely nothing without his permission. The mountain of debt he’d left me with—the credit cards he’d maxed out in my name, the "loans" that were nothing but systemic theft—was the entire reason I’d been desperate enough to sign Potter's contract.

  I gasped for air, rocking slightly on the dark pavement, trying to force the mindfulness techniques I used to teach my piano students. Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Out for six. But the counting dissolved. The darkness pressed in from all sides.

  A low, mocking chuckle sliced through the quiet of the lot.

  “Well, well. Look at the little mouse breaking down in the parking lot.”

  My head snapped up, my pulse spiking. Logan stepped out from the shadows near the players’ private entrance. He was still wearing the bespoke black suit from the press conference, though his tie was loosened and the top three buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing the thick muscles of his throat. He looked like sin and violence wrapped in luxury wool. Those cold, storm-grey eyes gleamed with a dark, predatory interest as he approached slowly, his hands shoved into his pockets.

  He stopped a few feet away, his towering frame completely eclipsing the light of the security lamp. “Having a little episode, Rhea? That voicemail sounded juicy. Play it again. I want to hear what made you crumble so beautifully.”

  I shook my head, my palms scraping against the rough asphalt as I tried to push myself up, but my knees refused to lock. “P-please… just leave me alone.”

  Logan crouched down in front of me, his massive six-foot-five frame blocking out the rest of the world. Before I could pull my hand back, his fingers shot out, plucking the phone from my trembling grip with effortless ease. He tapped the screen and replayed the voicemail on speakerphone.

  Greyson’s voice filled the empty parking lot all over again. Logan listened in absolute silence, a slow, lethal smile spreading across his face.

  “Ex-boyfriend, huh?” he murmured when the audio clicked shut. “Sounds like a small-time piece of shit. Twenty grand? That’s cute. The parasite thinks he still owns you.” Logan’s eyes darkened, the grey turning to slate. “But we both know that’s a lie. I own you now.”

  He slid my phone into his jacket pocket and gripped my jaw, his large fingers forcing my tear-streaked face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed roughly over my bottom lip, parting it.

  “Look at you. Tiny. Shaking. Stuttering in your own head even when your mouth is closed. That pathetic little panic attack is making my cock hard, mouse. Knowing someone else used to break you down like this… it makes me want to break you worse. And then put you back together in a shape that only fits me.”

  I tried to twist out of his grip, but his fingers were iron. “He’s… he’s in the past. I just need to pay him off and move on.”

  Logan let out a short, dark laugh that carried zero warmth. “Pay him off? With what? The money you’re earning from me?” He leaned closer, the scent of cedar, mint, and raw adrenaline invading my lungs. “No. You’re not giving that worthless fuck another fucking cent. From now on, you only do what i want . Your time. Your body. Your fear. All of it.”

  He stood up suddenly, hauling me to my feet by my waist as if I weighed absolutely nothing. My back slammed into the driver's side door of my car as he caged me in, his left hand planting flat against the glass beside my head, his right hand sliding down to grip my hip with bruising force.

  “You’re going to tell me everything about him,” Logan whispered, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that vibrated against my ribs. “Every way he hurt you. Every weak little thing he made you do. And then I’m going to use it. Because knowing your shadows makes it so much easier to keep you in the dark with me.”

  His hand moved lower, slipping beneath the hem of my skirt, his blunt fingers digging into the soft flesh of my thigh. “Does he know how wet you get when you’re scared, mouse? Because I do. I’ve felt it. That tight little pussy clenches so perfectly when you’re terrified of me.”

  “Logan… stop,” I whispered, but the words fractured on my tongue.

  He shifted his weight forward, pressing his heavy, armored body fully against mine, letting me feel the thick, rigid length of his erection through his trousers. The raw adrenaline from the day had him completely unhinged.

  “Why would I stop? This is the best part. Watching you realize there’s absolutely no escape. Not from him. Not from the debt. And definitely not from me.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “I’m going to destroy him for you, mouse. Slowly. Painfully. And when I’m done, you’ll owe me so much more than money. You’ll owe me your entire fucking life.”

  Tears continued to track down my face, but the freezing panic attack was twisting into something entirely different under his touch—a dark, confusing rush of heat that made my core ache with total helplessness.

  He kissed me then. It wasn’t a negotiation; it was a brutal, claiming violation that tasted like absolute possession. His tongue invaded my mouth, forcing compliance, while his fingers slid beneath the edge of my panties, stroking my wetness until my body betrayed my mind with a sharp, shameful shiver against his hand.

  When he finally pulled back, his grey eyes were burning with a dark, victorious satisfaction.

  “Get in your car and drive home,” he ordered, his voice rough. “But tomorrow after the charity event, you’re coming straight to my penthouse. No excuses. And you’re going to tell me every single detail about Greyson while I fuck the fear out of you.”

  He stepped back, releasing the physical trap. But before he walked away into the darkness of the lot, he turned his head, his profile sharp under the yellow lamp light.

  “Oh, and Rhea?” A cold smirk touched his lips. “If that ex of yours shows his face around this facility… I’ll make sure he never touches what’s mine again. I protect my property. Violently.”

  I watched his luxury SUV start up and roll out of the lot, my body trembling so violently I had to slide back onto the asphalt.

  Greyson was a monster from my past. But Logan McAllister was the monster claiming my entire future. And tonight, I realized I was completely, utterly trapped between them.